


Hallows' Eve (One Year Later)

by BoleynC



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:09:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoleynC/pseuds/BoleynC
Summary: One year has passed since Harry travelled back to Godric's Hollow to rescue his son. Harry and Albus are spending the evening together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is canon-compliant (is that the right term???), and it also goes with my novelisation of The Cursed Child (which you can find if you look at my works). 
> 
> Please leave me a comment! 
> 
> xxx

Harry made his way to the Slytherin dungeon feeling strangely optimistic. Hallows’ Eve was always a difficult time for Harry, but the fact Albus had agreed to spend it with him was lifting his spirits. It was progress, even if things were still rocky between Harry and his youngest son.

One year had passed since the day he had discovered his mother’s blanket with a message from Albus burned into it and then travelled back to Godric’s Hollow to resist the fateful event which would shape the rest of his life. The time had flown by. What with Delphi Riddle’s seemingly endless trial and the inquiry into the Ministry’s conduct under Hermione Granger’s leadership, he could be forgiven for forgetting that twelve long months had passed. The events of the previous year were still fresh in Harry’s mind, and also, Harry reasoned, probably in Albus’s. Which was why them being together was so important to him.

It was rare that Harry was allowed time away from the Ministry, especially now Dark Magic was known to be in resurgence, but he had made a point of securing this evening. If he had to work some overtime and miss a day or so of sleep for his troubles, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he didn’t let Albus down.

He gave the password (‘Bezoar’), and made his way down the corridor to the Slytherin common room. Today the torches were lit on either side of the stone passageway, and even Harry had to admit it gave a warm, comforting effect to what had previously struck him as an ominous walkway.

The lavishly decorated common room was almost entirely empty. Only two boys sat on the sofa before the fire, one looking contemplative, feet shuffling on the carpet, the other sitting very close to the first and chattering quietly.

Harry cleared his throat and Scorpius Malfoy shot to his feet looking nervous. Albus raised his head and got rather more reluctantly to his feet beside him.

“Hello Harry!” Scorpius said, giving an odd little wave and then seeming to regret it. “I was just waiting. With Albus. For you.”

“You didn’t fancy the Halloween feast this year?” Harry asked, as Albus put on his jacket.

“That’s where everyone is now,” Scorpius explained, gesturing at the empty common room. “They’re saving me a seat. Rose and Yann. Apparently there are live bats again, which sounds like a good idea, but maybe not around the food. It’s my first proper one since first year, because usually Albus and I don’t like to go-“

“Right,” said Harry politely.

“-and the thing is, I don’t really like pumpkins. The taste of pumpkin doesn’t agree with me. Pumpkins and fish. Just those two things that I know of. It’s okay in a pasty (pumpkins, not fish), but pumpkin juice just seems like overkill really, although I hear the carrot cake is good. I like cake. All kinds. Albus says you’re good at making cake. Oh, and there’s apple bobbing! I don’t know if I’ll try that, though. It seems a bit unhygienic if everyone uses the same bucket…”

“Ready to go, Albus?” Harry asked his son, as Scorpius fiddled with his hands and did what looked like an awkward shimmy.

“Yeah,” Albus said, touching Scorpius’s arm. Almost immediately the uptight boy appeared to relax. It was a source of continual bafflement to Harry that Scorpius Malfoy became starstruck in his presence. He still wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it. Memories of Gilderoy Lockhart prevented him from ever taking enjoyment from the attention. Harry was so determined not to appear that he enjoyed his celebrity status that it made him come across as more stand-offish than he would have liked.

Albus gave his father a significant look and Harry did his best to think of something to say to Scorpius, who was still gazing at him hopefully.

“Maybe you could come round for dinner again in the holidays?” Harry suggested. “I make a good pumpkin pie which might change your mind.”

Scorpius looked almost pathetically grateful at the offer.

“I am open to having my mind changed,” he said, nodding with enthusiasm.

If he and Albus had been alone, Albus would definitely have rolled his eyes at that.

“Are we going or what?” Albus asked, saving Harry from having to respond again.

“Yes. Well, have a good evening Scorpius,” Harry said. “Give your dad my regards.”

“I will,” Scorpius assured him, brushing a strand of his blond hair behind his ear.

But Scorpius didn’t move. Instead of either leaving through the common room door or heading to the dormitory, he hovered awkwardly at Albus’s side, fingers clutched together in front of him.

Harry frowned until he caught sight of Albus’s raised eyebrow and suddenly got it. He turned away tactfully as Scorpius gave Albus a peck on the cheek. Why he’d needed to look away for that, Harry had no idea, but out of respect for Albus he became interested in a nearby tapestry until Scorpius gave a short wave and Albus walked with his father back through the stone passageway which led out of the Slytherin common room.

“Albus, you do know I don’t mind all that, don’t you?” Harry said awkwardly as they walked together through the castle.

Albus grimaced. His dad had a gift for making things feel more uncomfortable than they had to.

“Dad, can we not?”

“Okay,” Harry said peaceably. Ginny had instructed him not to push Albus on the Scorpius situation, and if he was honest, the thought of any of his kids dating was odd. It was a bit of a relief not to have to give any sort of romantic instruction. Especially not with Albus, who he was sure would never let him forget the mortification if he ventured any sort of comment or advice about relationships.

He gave his son a smile to show he wouldn’t be pursuing the issue further, one which Albus appeared equally as relieved to see.

“Where are we going?” Albus asked, swallowing hard. “You never said.”

“Not to Godric’s Hollow,” Harry answered quickly. “I wouldn’t ask that of you. Not now.”

“I could handle it,” Albus lied.

“I know you could, but I wanted us to remember my mum and dad, your grandparents, somewhere that feels safe. Relaxed. I thought we could spend some time together.”

“So where?”

“Does the Three Broomsticks sound okay to you?”

Albus visibly relaxed. He appeared to deflate with relief.

“Sounds fine.”

As Harry and Albus emerged in the Entrance Hall, Albus was glad to see that the rest of the students were too busy at the Halloween feast to notice Harry Potter wandering the halls. His relief was short lived, however, when a familiar and inconvenient figure came gliding out of the Great Hall via a wall, looking delighted to see the pair.

“Harry! My dear friend!”

Nearly Headless Nick straightened his ruff and paused in front of them, hovering half a metre off the ground.

Albus grimaced. Usually he did his best to avoid Nick, who he regarded as an annoyance. He hoped his dad wasn’t in the mood for a chat. If anyone saw the pair of them lingering about, it wouldn’t take long for people to start saying that Albus was trying to leech off his dad’s fame.

“Deathday, isn’t it?” Harry said, grinning at the ghost. Nick puffed out his chest with pride that Harry had remembered.

“Oh, not a big one,” Nick said modestly. “Still, how wonderful that you remember. My five hundredth was quite the occasion, wasn’t it?”

“Definitely not one I’ll forget,” agreed Harry, making to move towards the front doors again.

“Of course I told you about my latest venture on the board for the Headless Hunt?”

“You did. Good for you, Nick.”

“It’s not quite the same as participation,” said Nick, drifting alongside the pair. “But still, it’s an official role. Without me I doubt they’d be able to run so smoothly and it is good to be respected again. Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore can’t stand that I’m the one implementing guidelines on the Headless Hunt. Not to mention that Head Hockey could be construed as alienating to some members. I don’t suppose I’d have your support in attempting to make the activities more inclusive for those of us who are partially severed?”

“Oh, yeah. Right,” Harry said, nodding. “Of course. And I’m sure Hermione will sign as well.”

Nick looked utterly thrilled and smoothed his hands down his doublet.

“Excellent, well I’ll be in touch. Old Delaney-Podmore won’t be able to overrule the opinion of the Minister for Magic herself! Good to see you, Harry. Albus.”

“See you, Nick,” Harry said, waving at the ghost.

The moment Nick had glided back through the wall, (having tipped his head disturbingly in Albus’s direction), Albus gave his dad an incredulous look.

“Not a fan of Nick, then?” Harry asked, smiling.

“Not especially,” Albus admitted.

“He takes a bit of getting used to, but he means well.”

“Are you really going to get Hermione to sign his petition?” Albus asked as they walked out of the large oak doors and into the chilly autumn grounds.

“It means a lot to him, so I’ll try.”

Albus seemed to disapprove of that sentiment if his doubtful expression was anything to go by. Harry felt suddenly stupid for not having remembered that Albus was a Slytherin, and therefore wouldn’t have had much to do with Nick.

“I suppose you lot prefer the Bloody Baron,” Harry said casually, trying to rectify the problem.

“Are you kidding me?” Albus asked, turning to his father with surprise and what could have been offence. “He killed the Grey Lady.”

“You know about that?”

“Scorpius told me. Didn’t he kill her and then stab himself? That’s why he wears the chains, isn’t it? As a punishment.”

“I didn’t realise that was common knowledge,” said Harry, as he and Albus moved further through the Hogwarts grounds.

“It’s not,” Albus admitted. “Scorpius knows everything about wizarding history. He stopped me to look at a suit of armour the other day. Apparently it belonged to some famous Hufflepuff knight.”

“It wasn’t Sir Cadogan, was it?”

“He was a Gryffindor,” Albus said, raising his eyebrows. “You mean the guy in the portrait at the end of the Divination corridor?”

“Oh, right. Of course,” Harry agreed, feeling foolish once again.

Once at the very edge of the grounds, Harry and Albus paused. Harry put out his arm and Albus took it. With a nod from Albus, Harry Apparated the short distance into Hogsmeade.

Father and son emerged in the middle of the wizarding village, both looking pale and unsteady on their feet. Apparation still didn’t agree with either one of them.

“Feeling okay?” Harry asked.

“Fine,” Albus lied.

“I’m not,” Harry admitted with a rueful smile. “Gets me every time. You’d think I’d get used to it the amount of times I have to Apparate. Nothing beats a broom.”

Harry and Albus walked down the main street, passing shop after shop covered in Halloween decorations, until they reached the Three Broomsticks.

The Three Broomsticks was a bustling little inn with a thatched roof and an air of warmth and comfort wafting out of it. Albus hadn’t been inside before, but he’d been in the Leaky Cauldron and he assumed one wizarding inn would be much like another.

The room Albus and Harry entered was noisy and smoky. People were laughing at the bar and a pair of elderly witches were gossiping loudly next to the fireplace. The room was decorated with a large pumpkin between every couple of tables, and shimmering cobwebs which hung across the ceiling, catching the light every so often.

“I’ve not been here in a while,” Harry said, looking around at the place and marvelling at how much it had changed since his last visit. “I keep telling Ron I’ll come for a drink with him and Neville. Work gets in the way.”

“It’s not too bad,” Albus agreed with a shrug. “Hagrid probably sorted them out with the pumpkins. He’s got some about that size outside his house.”

At the bar, a rather old and yet curvaceous witch with curly hair was serving drinks. At the sight of Harry her face lit up with a warm smile. Albus supposed she’d been pretty in her youth, because her face seemed less wrinkled than it should have been, and her eyes were bright.

“Harry Potter?”

“Madam Rosmerta,” Harry greeted her. “You’re looking well.”

Madam Rosmerta waved away the compliment, red fingernails batting at the air, and spotted Albus.

“Your son?” she asked, peering at Albus, who tried his best not to bristle under her scrutiny. The men nearby all stopped drinking and turned to look at him as well.

“This is Albus,” Harry said proudly, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Your youngest?”

“Youngest son,” Harry answered. “We’ve got James, Albus, and Lily. Lily’s our youngest.”

“Ah, I know James,” Rosmerta laughed fondly. “Funny boy. Why haven’t I seen you before, Albus?”

“I, er… didn’t fancy Hogsmeade,” Albus admitted.

Rosmerta raised an eyebrow and placed a hand on her hip.

“Well then,” she said. “Your first drink is on the house. A Butterbeer?”

“You don’t have to do that, Madam Rosmerta,” Harry said quickly, reaching for his wallet, but she shook her head firmly.

“Two Butterbeers,” she declared, handing over two foaming tankards. “And I hope to see you here again, Albus. You tell that brother of yours I’ve got my eye on him.”

Albus gave a half nod, half ‘yes’ and took his tankard. 

As soon as they were out of earshot, Harry moved closer to his son.

“I wasn’t expecting her to-“

“I know, Dad,” Albus said quickly, heading towards a table in the corner, away from the other groups of people and their curious eyes. “I get it.”

Albus let his dad take the seat with his back to the window, so that he could pretend something outside had taken his interest if the conversation became difficult.

“I had my first warm Butterbeer here,” Harry announced, looking a little bewildered by the memory. “With Ron and Hermione.”

“Uncle Ron fancied Madam Rosmerta,” Albus agreed. “Aunt Hermione’s always teasing him about it. She’s older than I thought she’d be.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be here that first time,” said Harry, still lost in memories. “It was my third year. Everyone else had gone off to Hogsmeade but the Dursleys wouldn’t sign my permission form. I was supposed to be stuck at Hogwarts.”

Albus decided it was politer not to point out that he’d heard this story before, seeing as this was a difficult night for his dad and he was apparently making an effort.

“I used James’s Cloak to meet Ron and Hermione. There was a passage through to Honeydukes. It was Christmas time. I think there was a tree, a Christmas tree here.”

Harry snapped himself out of it, very aware that he was talking about himself, something he had been advised by Ginny not to do too much around Albus.

“Good?” Harry asked, as Albus sipped his Butterbeer.

Albus nodded. The warm drink was making him feel more relaxed already.

There was a silence then, which, to Albus, seemed to stretch on for minutes. He was glad he had his Butterbeer to use as a distraction. As for his father, he appeared to be at an equal loss for words. He kept opening his mouth to speak and then seemingly thinking better of it.

“So,” Albus said eventually, scratching the back of his neck. “Did you want to talk about, you know?”

Harry pushed his Butterbeer aside and ran a hand through his hair, giving his son his full attention.

“This time last year we were-“

“You got our message,” Albus finished for him. “I missed it. Hallows’ Eve. We both did. Me and Scorpius.”

“The blanket was smart,” said Harry. “Really smart. Sending that message was the best thing you could have done.”

“It took us a while to think of it,” Albus admitted with a shrug.

“But you did. And when I found it…I don’t think I’ve ever felt so relieved. We thought we’d lost you, Albus. You have no idea what that felt like.”

“Well, you found me again,” Albus said swiftly.

“It was the worst Hallows’ Eve of my life. And I’ve had some bad ones. Before I got your message I thought you were gone. I thought it was my fault. Losing a child… it’s beyond anything you could imagine, Albus. Life became very empty without you there.”

Albus looked away from his father, anticipating a lecture.

“I know I shouldn’t have done it,” he admitted reluctantly.

“I’m not trying to tell you off,” Harry said, surprised. “I wanted you to know what it meant. I need you to know how much I care about you. I still… sometimes I don’t think you get it.”

“I do get it, Dad. You don’t need to keep saying it,” Albus muttered, sounding accidentally sulky with guilt.

Harry, however, did not understand. He looked wounded and swallowed hard.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Albus clarified swiftly, angry at himself for his own tone. “I just mean that I understand. You don’t have to prove it to me. That you care about me or whatever. I know that you do.”

Albus went to take another sip of Butterbeer but realised he’d finished his already. Knowing his father would nobly offer to get him another if he let on, he gave a fake sip and hoped it didn’t notice.

Harry’s fingers were moving oddly on the table, the pads brushing over the tablecloth. Albus was used to Scorpius’s fingers twitching constantly, but his dad? He wondered he was thinking about his mother’s blanket. The blanket he would usually have with him at a time like this. Guilt swelled in Albus’s stomach once again.

“Sorry I messed up your blanket,” Albus said awkwardly. “I know you have it usually. Tonight, I mean. Don’t you like to hold it or something?”

“I’ve still got it,” Harry admitted, noticing the movements of his fingers and stilling them instantly. “What’s left of it, anyway. But I don’t need it with me to remember them. Not now we can remember them together. And it was only ever a blanket. My mum… it was about the love that came with it. The connection between us. It was never about the blanket. I was stupid to give it to you, Albus. I never even explained… I made a mistake there.”

“You were trying to give me something meaningful,” Albus admitted. “I get it now. Obviously at the time it was a bit weird…”

“Your mum thought so too. She seemed to think you’d have preferred something else - but I didn’t know what to give you. You don’t like Quidditch. You don’t like reading. You don’t really tell me about what you like and what you don’t-“

“I get it, Dad,” Albus interrupted him, looking away. “I’m a difficult person.”

“A complex person,” Harry conceded. “Which isn’t a bad thing. I’m just… with you, Albus, it’s…you’re perceptive.”

“Perceptive?” Albus repeated, a little surprised.

“You always have been. With James and Lily… it’s easy to be a dad to them. I know what they need. I know what they want. But you see things. You notice every time I slip up. I feel like you can see right through me.”

“I guess I’m not the ideal son to have,” Albus tried to joke, heart sinking.

“No,” Harry said quickly, shaking his head. “I don’t mean… look, I’m doing it again. You _are_ the ideal son to have.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. That sounded cliche even for his dad.

“To me. Even if we don't always get each other. I wouldn’t change you. You drive me mad, Albus Severus Potter, but maybe that’s how things should be.”

“Maybe,” Albus said, shrugging again.

“When I say that with James and Lily - that I know what they need… what they want… I don’t know what you need. Or what you want. But I’d like to… fix that, Albus. How can I do things differently?”

Albus drew his eyes away from the window and looked at his father. Was his dad actually asking him for critique on his parenting style? Had he missed some sarcasm there? It felt almost too good to be true.

“Dad?” Albus asked, uncertainly.

“I mean it. You and your mum get on great. I’d like that for us. If you would.”

“I would,” Albus said quickly, clearing his throat. “I mean, I want things to be better between us.”

“So what can I do?”

Albus took a deep breath and pushed aside his empty tankard. He crossed his arms on the table in front of him and leaned on them, thinking hard, looking for the right words, willing himself not to say something stupid.

“I just… sometimes, Dad, I feel like you don’t see me. It’s like you know I’m there, and you know what you want me to be, what I should be, but you don’t want to face the reality. I’m never going to be like them. That’s not me trying to be edgy or whatever. This is me, Dad. I just… wish you’d accept it.”

“I do accept it,” Harry said earnestly. “All three of you are different. Look at Lily. She’s off in her own world most of the time.”

“I’m still the black sheep of the family,” Albus said bitterly. “I don’t fit in. Everyone knows it. Even if they don’t say it out loud.”

“Because you’re a Slytherin? Albus, I don’t care about that. It was a surprise, I’m not going to lie to you about that. But if that’s who you are then that’s who you are. It’s different, maybe, but there’s nothing wrong with it.”

Albus could not let that comment slide, even though he knew he probably should.

“And what about all those years where you and Uncle Ron used to talk about the Slytherins like they were evil or something?” Albus found himself demanding before he could stop himself. “Like they were stupid thugs. And all those jokes James used to make before I got Sorted. You laughed. You never told him to stop.”

Harry sighed and fixed his glasses on his nose, frowning slightly.

“He was just being James. You being in Slytherin is fine. It’s okay. If I’d known you were going to end up there I would have said something to him.”

“That’s exactly it,” Albus pointed out. “You weren’t expecting it. You expected me to be a Gryffindor like you. Like the rest of our family. It’s like… like you’ve had to adjust or something. Like it’s an effort to accept me as I am. And that makes me feel… I don’t know. Bad.”

Harry grimaced. Hearing his son talk so frankly about his feelings was painful, especially when it appeared that Albus had a point.

“I didn’t used to have a high opinion of Slytherins,” Harry admitted, deciding that he owed his son honesty at the very least.

Albus made a face which clearly meant: _I told you so_.

“Look, it was different when I was at school,” Harry insisted.

“Sure it was,” Albus muttered, only just resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Draco Malfoy and his friends did their best to make my life at school hell. It just so happened that they were in Slytherin. During the Battle… they didn’t stick around. One of his friends offered to hand me over-”

“Do you know what they were doing?” Albus said suddenly, a fierce glint in his green eyes. “The Slytherins?”

Harry shook his head mutely.

“Scorpius told me all about it. They might not have fought, but they were the ones evacuating the students. The Professors were busy sorting out defence. They didn’t just leave. Everyone says that. Loads of them stuck around. And you think they could just have fought their own families?”

Albus had been talking so animatedly that for a moment Harry was convinced he was sitting opposite Scorpius Malfoy instead of his son.

“You can’t just expect people to die for something. They had a choice. Why give people the choice if they’re just going to get punished for making the wrong one?”

“Albus,” Harry said calmly, as his son’s tone seemed to grow more heated by the second.

“Everyone thinks we’re cowards. I never chose to be in Slytherin. None of us chose.”

“Nobody thinks you’re a coward.”

“And I’m not ashamed of it. I never chose to be in Slytherin, but I’m proud to be. It suits me. Maybe for the wrong reasons-“

Horrified by the fact his eyes were welling up and his throat was starting to feel very tight, Albus attempted to change the subject.

“But I didn’t mean about me being in Slytherin. I was talking about me not fitting in. It’s not just the Slytherin thing. I don’t fit. And I think it must be something in me.”

“Albus-“

“There must be a reason everyone loves James and Lily and most people at Hogwarts hate my guts.”

“Albus,” Harry repeated, more firmly this time. He reached across the table to take his son’s arm. Albus looked down at his father’s hand with surprise.

“Do you care what they think?” Harry asked simply.

“What?”

“The other students. Do you care what they think of you? James cares. Okay, maybe Lily doesn’t. But do you?”

Albus was so bewildered by the question that for a moment he couldn’t form an answer.

“No,” Albus admitted. “But that’s not the point-“

“Then what does it matter?” Harry asked. “Kids can be cruel. I know, Albus. I’ve been there. But I was lucky enough to have Hermione and Ron.”

“I know that, Dad-“ Albus said, starting to pull his arm away.

“They got me through it. And you know what? You have Scorpius. And Rose. As long as you have them, then who cares if some of the students are gits?”

Albus bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from saying something he might regret.

“You’re different, Albus,” said Harry. “You’re independent. And that’s fantastic. You once told me all you needed was Scorpius. Well, you’ve still got him. You’ve got Rose. You’ve got your family. Just… remember that. There are a lot of people that love you.”

Albus found himself nodding. Harry gave Albus’s arm one last pat and then crossed his arms again.

Until it felt safe again, Albus took an interest in a rip on his side of the tablecloth. After that short moment of silence, Albus found that looking back up again was harder than he’d anticipated. It took several attempts to catch his father’s eyes.

“About Scorpius…” Albus began tentatively.

“It’s one hundred percent accepted,” Harry said quickly. “You know all I want is for you to be happy. It’s all I want for the three of you. Anyone who makes you happy is fine with me.”

“I’m not just doing it to be different,” Albus said. “I know people think so. Apparently it’s not enough that I’m the Slytherin Potter, or that I did what I did last year. They think I’m pretending to be into boys because…”

“I’ve been there, Albus,” Harry said easily.

Albus paused, staring at his dad with confusion.

“Not the boys thing. I can’t say I relate to that exactly, but people acting like you just want attention. They did that to me too. Every time something happened I became this melodramatic, fame-hungry - well, I don’t know what. But the papers were always at it. I know how that makes you feel. You can start to believe it yourself.“

“How did you deal with it?” Albus asked.

“Well, people told me to ignore it.”

“Right,” said Albus, heart sinking.

“But that advice was pretty useless to be honest. Well meant, but useless.”

Albus raised his head.

“There’s no easy solution,” Harry admitted. “Mostly I stuck with Ron and Hermione. With the people I cared about. I would say tell your professors, but it’s not as easy as that. People can be pretty sly about it. I know how it works. It’s not always in what they say, it’s the way they act. And you can’t go to a Professor every time someone avoids you like you’ve got spattergroit.”

Harry noticed Albus was listening carefully, apparently taking in every word. As much as it saddened him to see his son in a similar position to the one he had been in all those years ago, he consoled himself that at least Albus had a dad. At least he, Harry, could try to help him out. He’d know he wasn’t alone. Or that he didn’t have to be if he didn’t want to.

“Just make sure you stick to your guns,” Harry advised. “You be you. And you’ve got my support. The whole family’s behind you.”

“Thanks,” Albus muttered, his eyes feeling rather hot and prickly.

Harry thought hard about everything he wished someone had told him at Albus’s age, when he’d been subject to the same treatment from his peers. He wished he was more articulate so that he could console Albus more competently.

“They’re not picking on you because you deserve it. Or because you’re weak. It’s nothing like that. You’re unique, Albus. You always have been. You’re stubborn. You won’t just go along with everyone else in order to be liked. Look at who you picked as your best friend. That was brave.”

“It wasn’t,” Albus argued, trying to disguise a sniff.

“It was. You can’t even see it, but it was. Do you know how many people would have kept their distance from Scorpius Malfoy? But you didn’t care. Even when you saw how people reacted to him, you wouldn’t budge. I didn’t see it at the time, Albus, but you’re brave. You are.”

“If I was that brave I’d be in Gryffindor,” Albus half joked, swallowing hard.

“Bravery isn’t exclusively a Gryffindor trait,” Harry admitted with a smile. “Have you seen Uncle Ron faced with a spider? I thought Lily’d found another wounded Doxy in the bathroom when I heard that scream.”

“Point taken,” Albus said.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re different. I’m glad you’re not like everyone else. I’m just sorry it means you’re having a rough time.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Albus said, his voice cracking.

They lapsed into silence once again, but this one was far more comfortable. Albus appreciated that his dad wasn’t commenting on the fact he’d almost started crying. Harry was practically over the moon that Albus had opened up to him.

Albus glanced over at the clock on the wall. It was getting late. Soon, he knew he’d have to go back to Hogwarts. Strangely, he was enjoying being with his dad, just the two of them together. It was an almost startling realisation considering he’d spent most of the day complaining about the meeting to Scorpius.

“I guess we should… talk about them. If you want,” Albus volunteered. “That’s why we’re here, right?”

He didn’t have to explain who he was talking about. His dad nodded at him gratefully and cleared his throat.

“Well I miss them,” said Harry, frankly. “Which sounds ridiculous because I never really knew them. But I do.”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” Albus assured him quietly.

“I wish they’d met your mum. And you, and James, and Lily.”

“Your dad was really into Quidditch, wasn’t he?” Albus asked.

“He was a Chaser,” Harry agreed, with some pride.

“I heard him talking about it. When he had you on his shoulders. He was talking about dives and Quidditch moves, all that stuff. He sounded really into it. Like how Lily gets when she talks about magical creatures.”

Harry nodded, wanting to hear more, even though Albus had already told him this detail hundreds of times.

“He would have got on with Mum so well,” Albus ventured on. He checked his father’s face and was relieved to see it had not grown angry at his presumption. “They could have talked about Quidditch. I think he’d have liked her. They both would. It would be nightmare for me, though. You lot talking about Quidditch all the time.”

Harry gave a weak smile. That image of domesticity was almost too much to bear.

“I told you about how your mum liked gardening, didn’t I?” Albus continued.

“You did.”

“With these bright yellow gloves. She looked like she was good at it. I don’t know much about gardening, but she seemed to know what she was doing. You liked watching her. I think you liked the flowers.”

“I don’t remember any of that,” Harry admitted with a sigh. “I wish I did.”

“You were just a kid.”

“I suppose so,” Harry agreed.

Albus thought for a moment and then made a decision. Scorpius had told him to be kind. To not hold back. With more bravery than Albus was aware he should have needed, Albus reached across the table to touch his father’s arm.

“I’m sorry you lost them, Dad. It wasn’t fair. It isn’t.”

Harry looked stunned by the gesture. He stared down at Albus’s hand and then back at his son.

Wordlessly, he patted his son’s hand, nodding. Albus would never know, Harry thought, how much that small gesture meant to him.

“Does it get easier?” Albus asked tentatively.

Harry knew instantly what Albus meant. His son was wondering if the memories of last year would ever fade, if the wounds would heal.

“In some ways it does,” Harry answered honestly. “Others… well, it’s harder.”

Albus nodded. As distressing as that answer was, he valued the truth of it. He appreciated that his father wasn’t lying to him or treating him like a child.

“But you’ll learn to deal with it better,” Harry added. “You’ll get stronger. I don’t know how or why, but that’s the way it happens. As long as you don’t keep it to yourself, you’ll be okay.”

“I mean, I talk to Scorpius about it,” said Albus. “It’s easiest to talk to him. He’s the only one who understands it. He gets it worse than me. Stuff to do with the other reality.”

“Are you still seeing Neville?” Harry asked.

“Sometimes. Only when I need to.”

“You can talk to him, Albus. He’s helped a lot of kids that… not that you’re a kid. But he’s good to chat to.”

“I know,” Albus admitted. “He’s a nice guy. I just… it’s not something I like to talk about.”

Harry nodded. He could not force his son to talk about his experiences and emotions, after all.

“And you’ve got enough Sleeping Draught?”

“Loads,” Albus agreed. “I hardly ever take it, though. Scorpius has this theory that if you take it too much it’ll mess with your concentration and coordination. He wants to retain as much information as possible, seeing as it’s O.W.L. year.”

“I think you’re safe with a Sleeping Drought,” Harry said, smiling. “It’s fairly mild. You know I take it too, don’t you?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“More than sometimes,” Harry admitted. “We keep some next to the bed. Your mum deals with stuff differently to me, but she’s still working through it. We all are. Uncle Ron gave up being an Auror because of the stress. It’s normal, what you’re feeling. And there’s no shame in it.”

“I’ll tell Scorpius you take a Sleeping Draught,” Albus said, trying to joke. “If he knows the great Harry Potter thinks it’s fine, I won’t be able to stop him drinking the stuff.”

“The great Harry Potter,” Harry repeated, looking bemused. “Probably a bit of a disappointment in reality.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Albus, green eyes glinting. “I mean, you’re getting old, but still…”

It wasn’t quite the banter that Harry enjoyed with James. There was still an edge of uncertainty to it, of unease, a sense of testing the waters, but to Harry, it was everything.

“I’m proud of you, Albus,” he said sincerely.

“I guess I’m proud of you too, Dad,” Albus admitted.

The two shared an almost identical grin.

“Back to Hogwarts?” Harry suggested, making to get to his feet.

“Maybe we could have one more Butterbeer?” Albus said. “Unless you need to get back…”

“One more Butterbeer it is,” Harry said cheerfully, taking Albus’s empty tankard and heading for the bar.

**Author's Note:**

> I love the relationship between Albus and Harry. I don't imagine it to be perfect, but I like to think that after a year Albus is more comfortable with his dad. I think Harry is also more supportive and thoughtful. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this then please leave me a comment! I will be writing a few more individual short fics like this which fit in with my Cursed Child novelisation. 
> 
> (Say hi on twitter! I am @ClaudiaBoleyn)
> 
> xxx


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